


let there be damage ensued and tabloid news

by peterpan_in_neverland



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: 5+1, F/M, Pining, i dont know what im doing i finished this like fifteen minutes ago, lemme know if theres anything else to add tbfh, okay real tags now:, this barely deserves the M rating but im doing it just to be safe, this is Leila's birthday fic holy shit I actually did it, this spans a lot of their life and also children are Hard To Write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/pseuds/peterpan_in_neverland
Summary: That’s what this is, it is electric. Charged. Alight and alive, glowing in the dark. He and Devi, it seems, are like something nocturnal— they’re sharp and pointed and awake during the day, yes, but there are layers to their relationship, and it seems to Ben, that the only time they are able to peel them back is in the dark.Someone bumps into Devi and she crashes into him, colliding like a meteor into the Earth, and he catches her. She rights herself, still pressed against him, and there is a moment in between her looking up at him, and the song ending, that Ben is certain he is going to kiss her.-OR; five times Ben realizes Devi is beautiful and the one time she realizes he is beautiful, too
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Comments: 9
Kudos: 92





	let there be damage ensued and tabloid news

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashlightinacave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/gifts).



> happy birthday, Leila! I love you so much and im so glad youre in my life. youre so smart and amazing and talented and just overall an incredible woman and human being. Love you forever, dear.

_i._

“You’re kidding, right?” Devi asks, looking him up and down. He casts a glance down at himself— he looks exactly the same as he always does, wearing khakis and a short sleeved button up, so he reasons that the look is probably just a tactic. She’s trying to make him feel bad, probably, more than he already does.

“No,” he admits, and chews on the inside of his cheek. 

Devi laughs. It doesn’t surprise him, because this is… probably his lowest point in his entire eight years of life. 

“Why are you asking  _ us,  _ anyway?” 

There are a lot of possible answers. Because he’s alone. Because, since Brian and Garrett— his only friends— are both absent today, and Devi is the only other person he talks to, he has no other options. Because he’s always kind of respected Devi, and Fabiola and Eleanor are nice enough. 

“I couldn’t think of anyone else,” he says, and hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate. 

Devi starts to laugh, and then Fabiola bumps her shoulder, and she quiets. She looks at him again, then back and forth between Fabiola and Eleanor.  _ Girls,  _ Ben thinks,  _ are the only things alive that can communicate without making any noise.  _

He knows that that isn’t true, because bees dance to communicate, and pheromones exist, but he likes to imagine it, and he is feeling dramatic. And, besides, whatever they seem to be silently discussing seems more important than anything that bees could dance about.

“Fine, Ben,” Devi finally says, and he exhales, “you can sit— but  _ just  _ for today, alright?” 

“I wouldn’t want to sit with you any longer, anyway.” 

“Seriously?” Devi says, sounding a little insulted, and groans, “you’re being mean to me after I agreed to let you sit here?” 

“You laughed at me when I asked,” he points out, and sits down, 

“Only because I thought you asking was ridiculous.” 

“Thanks, David.”

“Anytime, Gross.” 

It turns out that eating lunch with Devi and her friends is kind of fun. They make jokes, setting up a strange version of the nativity scene with Fabiolas animal crackers, and there is a moment where Eleanor says she doesn’t want to peanut butter crackers her stepmom packed in her lunchbox, and drops them into the center of the table, watching gleefully as Devi and Fabiola both lunge for them. 

They’re let out for recess, and Ben gets up to walk out with them, when he realizes, vaguely, that Devi is pretty. 

He has never been in a position where he could consider it before— they've always argued, and his anger at her must have clouded his judgement. 

She’s wearing a red dress with white polka dots and her hair in long pigtails, and she is laughing hard at something Fabiola said. 

Very briefly, for so quick a moment that Ben can almost— almost— pretend it never happened, he wishes, albeit, only for a moment that he was the one who made her laugh.

_ii._

The winner of the fifth grade science fair gets a trophy the size of Ben's torso and five hundred dollars cash, and Ben has never wanted anything more.

Predictably, him and Devi are the only two people from their middle school that made it to the county wide competition, and he sees her carrying in her poster board, Mohan carefully carrying the box with her Petri dishes. 

Ben is carrying everything by himself. 

He has a posterboard and a plastic tub— it is dark purple, the kind his mom packs her old clothes into— and instead of offering his help, his dad wishes him luck and drives away. 

“Do you need some help, Benjamin?” someone asks, and Ben's head shoots up, eyes widening. Mohan is standing there, Devi’s box of Petri dishes sitting on the ground beside him. Devi is pacing dramatically, rolling the sleeve of her lab coat up to look at her watch angrily. 

Ben starts to stammer, trying to push away Mohan's offer, but then he clicks his tongue and sets Devi’s box down carefully on top of his, and then lifts them both up. 

_ “Dad,”  _ Devi says, demand thick in her voice. Mohan clicks his tongue again, and nods his head towards Devi. 

“Let’s go in, before her temper gets us all in trouble, yes?” 

“Okay,” Ben says, and follows Mohan into the building, staying on the opposite side from Devi. 

The building the science fair is being held in— which happens to be the science center of a local college— has high ceilings and bright, artificial lights hanging down in measured intervals. The floor is a shiny blue flecked tile, and there are folding tables set up, with placards on the tables that each contestant's names on them. 

There are at least a hundred, and Ben's mouth begins to feel dry. 

He finds his table and—  _ of course,  _ he thinks, because he can never have a win— Devi’s is right next to him. He grimaces, and pulls at his tie. Anxiety boils in his stomach. 

Mohan sets the boxes down on the ground, and cracks open Devi’s— she has clearly scrawled her name on it, in bright red marker, writing things like  _ FRAGILE _ and  _ DO NOT TOUCH _ in bold, underlined capital letters— and hands her her Petri dishes. She arranges them carefully, setting them under the spots that correspond with her poster board, and Ben watches.

Her and Mohan work together smoothly, like cogs in a well oiled machine, and just being around them makes Ben realize that Mohan is Devi’s favourite person in the world. She smiles at him brighter than she does at anyone else, and it makes Ben's heart flip in his chest. 

He does not have that. His dad drops him off with a flippant shouting of, “good luck,” and his mom, well… his mom doesn’t even know that he’s here. He’s certain that if— when, he reminds himself, he is going to win—  _ when  _ he brings the trophy home, his mother is going to have to ask what it is for. 

It is a fact of life that his parents don’t like him much. They love him, he knows that they love him, but liking someone is different from loving them, and the difference between his parents and Mohan is clear. 

Mohan likes spending time with his daughter, but Ben's parents don’t like spending time with him. 

He pushes his thoughts away when he hears Mohan’s voice. “Do you need help setting up your display?” he asks, a smile on his face. Devi has disappeared, and Ben feels the tension in his shoulders relax.

“Um, sure,” he answers, and takes each model of the solar ovens he had made, lining them up chronologically. 

When they finish, Mohan steps back, his hands on his hips, and looks between the tables with a beaming smile on his face. Ben can feel his cheeks heating up as Mohan studies his poster board, reading over the hypothesis and the charts quickly. 

“This is really impressive work, Benjamin,” he says, and Bens mouth parts. 

He’s never heard his dad say he is impressed. 

“Thank you, Mr Vishwakumar,” Ben answers, before he begins to stare, open mouthed, for too long. He decides to change the subject, because having the spotlight on him— having someone be  _ proud  _ of him, no matter how long he has craved it, makes him almost delirious with discomfort. “Where’s Devi’s mom?”

The corner of Mohans mouth dips into a frown. “She caught a stomach bug, so she is at home resting.” 

“Oh,” he says, “I hope she feels better soon.” 

“Thank you.” 

-

Devi wins. Because of course she does. 

Ben is mad about it at first, until he sees how wide Devi smiles as she accepts the trophy, beaming into the camera that Mohan is holding and for the second time in his life, he realizes that Devi is pretty. 

The anger melts off of Ben's skin, and he leans back in his chair, holding his second place trophy on his lap. He knows that, more than likely, he is going to have to sit against the curb, all alone, waiting hours for his dad to pick him up. But, having a trophy to bring home— even if it is second place— and seeing Devi smile that broadly, makes him think that maybe it is worth it. 

He isn't expecting Mohan to place a hand on his shoulder after he helps Ben carry his box back out, and it almost startles him. “My Devi and I are going out to eat,” he says, casting a glance towards Devi, who is setting her things in the trunk of Mohan’s car. “Barbecue— can you believe it? I only agreed because her mother is sick, and she promised not to tell— but, I was thinking that perhaps you would like to join us.”

“What?” Ben asks, his brain fogging up. Go to a barbecue dinner with Devi and her father? And why did it matter if Nalini was there for barbecue or not? And why, out of all the people in the world, would Mohan invite Ben, his daughter's worst enemy, to her victory dinner.

“Would you like to come to dinner with Devi and I?”

Ben doesn’t know what comes over him, or if hes developed a fever, but he says, “okay.”

“Dad,” Devi says, leaning against the car and watching as Mohan and Ben walk towards her,  _ “what  _ did you do?”

“I invited Benjamin to come to dinner with us.” 

_ “Him?”  _ Devi shrieks, gesturing violently towards Ben. “Why would you invite him, dad-- he got second place!” 

“Second place is still a good achievement,  _ kanna,  _ and you must learn to be kind, even to people you dont like.”

“I  _ hate  _ him,” Devi says, and Ben pretends that it does not sting as much as it does. 

“That's very rude,  _ kanna,  _ apologize.”

“Dad—”

“Apologize, Devi.”

Devi sighs, looking defeated, and turns to face Ben. “I’m sorry I said I hate you,” she practically mumbles, then sticks her hand out. Surprise courses through his veins, but he takes it, shaking it once before she drops his hand like it burns.

They step away and walk around to separate sides of the car. Ben is buckling his seatbelt when he realizes he hasn't congratulated her yet. “Hey,” he says, and she looks at him, “congrats, by the way, on first place.”

She pushes her eyebrows together, and her bottom lip juts out, like she isn't sure what to think. “Thanks, Ben,” she finally says, and smiles. “I really liked your project, by the way.”

She doesn't say anything else, and a warm feeling spreads through Ben's chest. He knows it will go away, he knows it will, but he hopes it stays for a long, long time.

_ iii.  _

Devi has, clearly, realized she looks good in red. 

He feels a little stupid, actually, as he watches Devi— she’s leaning against a table, typing quickly on her phone, chewing on her bottom lip. She has dark red lipstick on, but somehow, it hasn’t come off on her teeth. 

Her dress makes her look criminally good, sheer black fabric with red velvet, curling into a pattern of swirling roses. He can’t decide whether he loves it or really, really hates it. 

He doesn’t even really know why he came, actually. Shira has been in the bathroom taking selfies with Caitlin the entire time, and since Garrett and Brian both went to separate high schools, Ben is left completely alone. As per usual.

And, now that he is really thinking about it, Devi is alone, too, which is completely unusual. He hasn’t seen Fabiola or Eleanor since he got here, and Devi has rotated between peeking into the hallways and leaning sadly against the table.

Something heady and reckless falls over him like a thick blanket, and he walks over to her, spinning on his heel to lean against the table, and mirroring her posture. The back of his thighs are pressed into the lip of the table. 

“David,” he says, all momentum lost. He is, suddenly, stranded in the desert, any fantasy of this ending well evaporating in front of his eyes like a mirage, a poorly rendered illusion.

She looks him up and down, making an impressive face of disgust. “Benjamin.” She wraps the syllables in layers of disdain. “What do you want?” 

He shrugs. “You looked kind of lonely.” 

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but her body betrays her air of annoyance when Ben notices her hands shaking. “Fabiola chickened out, and Eleanor got sick.” 

“How do you chicken out of going to homecoming?”

“By saying, “I don’t know, Devi, I don’t think this really fits my brand as a serious woman of science,”” Devi tells him, waving a hand in the air flippantly, “nevermind the fact that it’s twenty-nineteen, a woman can be smart  _ and  _ sexy.” 

Ben stays quiet, because he is not really sure what to say, until a slow, trendy pop song comes on and the reckless feeling from earlier re-emerges.

“You wanna dance?” he asks her, then winces almost imperceptibly, looking down at his shoes. There is a scuff mark from where someone bumped into him on his way in, and he cringes inwardly at the prospect of trying to polish it off later. 

_ “No!”  _ Devi says, sounding painfully insulted. 

“Whatever, I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” He starts to walk away, then hears a groan that he  _ knows  _ is Devi— he has had plenty of experience hearing it, after all.

“Fine,” she says, and he stops. Turns on his heel to face her. He knows he is smirking, and he does not even try to hide it. 

He tries to harness the sudden, powerful arrogance he feels racing through his blood, but something about it is untamable, unreachable, and Devi looks  _ so _ good—

_ She looks good. _

The realization hits him full force, unrestrained, like a tidal wave or a tornado, and he almost stumbles backwards. He has known for years that Devi is pretty, with brown skin and eyes that seem to see through him, but it is starting to have an effect on him, now, and he is realizing that every time Devi has smiled, he has smiled in return. And it scares the hell out of him.

He pushes it away, tries to regain composure. Control. Some measure of common sense, and he holds his hand out. Devi looks at him strangely, with some measure of distrust, but takes his hand. 

Holding her hand feels like opening a dictionary, unlocking some deep buried knowledge, turning the key in the lock of a treasure chest. 

He pulls her onto the dancefloor— it's just the floor of the gymnasium, actually, and Ben thinks vaguely about the fact that they’re just a few feet away from the center of the basketball court— and feels bold enough to drop his hands to her waist. He does not confront the fact that they fit there, securely, like he is supposed to be holding her.

She drops her arms on his shoulders and he lets her lead. “You’re wimping out, Gross,” she says, finding the tempo easily. It is horribly adolescent, the way they are dancing, swaying side to side, with six inches in between them.

“It’s called being a gentleman, David,” he shoots back, and resists the urge to try to spin her around, just to prove he can.

“And I believe that, if you look up  _ wimp _ in the dictionary,  _ gentleman _ will be a synonym,” she says, smiling at him, “and your face will be right next to that definition.”

“The  _ only _ place my face would be at in the dictionary is next to the word  _ genius.”  _

“Only if the definition of  _ genius _ suddenly changed to mean  _ moron.” _

“The only way that would happen,” he starts, “is if you were ever named a genius.”

Devi laughs, tossing her head back. Ben watches the way her throat moves, and pushes away the notion that he could run his fingers along her skin. “If this is how you treat all the girls you dance with, then it’s no wonder you’re here alone, Gross.”

“Just you, Devi,” he replies, and feels something shift, almost imperceptibly. The air feels lighter. Buoyant, afloat. A little more alive, trusting, like he could say or do anything.

“I’m charmed, Ben,” Devi says, and falls silent.

“You look really good,” he says, and she jerks her head up to look at him. He feels colour pour into his cheeks, temperature rising, and he almost regrets saying it. Almost, but not quite. “Just… by the way.”

“Thanks, Ben. So do you.”

_ Electric _ .

That’s what this is, it is electric. Charged. Alight and alive, glowing in the dark. He and Devi, it seems, are like something nocturnal— they’re sharp and pointed and awake during the day, yes, but there are layers to their relationship, and it seems to Ben, that the only time they are able to peel them back is in the dark. 

Someone bumps into Devi and she crashes into him, colliding like a meteor into the Earth, and he catches her. She rights herself, still pressed against him, and there is a moment in between her looking up at him, and the song ending, that Ben is certain he is going to kiss her.

He can picture it clearly, tilting his head down and pressing his mouth to hers, his hands tightening against the velvet of her dress as her hands slip up into his hair.

Then, the song ends with a soft guitar chord, and the moment between them ends, too.

_iv._

Ben hates today. 

Generally, he likes when Model UN has a weekend meeting to discuss strategy— it gets him out of his house, and lets him spend time with the people closest to friends that he’ll ever have. Generally, after he leaves, he feels one thousand percent less lonely.

Except, when Patty drops him off at the high school, it’s packed with people, and it’s  _ loud _ . There are people chattering, shouting, laughing, and some kind of ethnic music playing— Indian, he realizes, after he bumps into a tall woman in a dark purple  _ sari _ . The music is pretty good, actually, reedy notes and something like humming, with a strong beat that Ben can feel through his blood.

The Model UN meeting isn’t bad, actually. Shapiro brings organic cheese and crackers, and Mandie brings four boxes of Pacific Cooler CapriSuns, and the last ten minutes of the meeting consists of a passionate argument regarding the morals of  _ Hamilton.  _ All in all, it is a good day.

Until, inevitably, it isn't. 

Ben is a few feet out of the history classroom, scrolling through his contacts to find Patty’s phone number, when he hears a reverberating metallic bang. It repeats, on loop, and a sick feeling begins to blossom in his stomach when he pictures what could be causing it.

He follows the sound, imagining some kind of mob related beatdown, but it actually turns out to be worse, in an entirely unexpected way.

Devi is kicking a locker, repeatedly, and Ben thinks he can faintly hear her mumbling angrily. 

“Devi?” he asks, and she startles, turning to face him.

He exhales a nervous breath, and looks her up and down before he can stop himself. She’s wearing a bright blue  _ sari,  _ and gold jewelry, her hair pinned up on the back of her head. She looks beautiful, and it's killing him. 

He doesn’t know why, really, that it is tearing through him, how beautiful she looks. 

“What the hell are you doing here dressed like Harvard’s wet dreams, Gross?” 

He opens his mouth, grappling for something to say back, being stopped at every turn when he realizes, all over again, how beautiful she is. 

“At least I don’t look like that girl from  _ Aladdin  _ in that  _ sari,”  _ he says, and winces internally at how ignorant it sounds, before he remembers that she once wished the Nazis would kill him. 

_ “Ugh!”  _ Devi groans, and shoves the bright red tray she’s holding into his chest. Her cartons of chocolate milk crash into the floor, and he stumbles backwards, grabbing the tray to stop it from clattering to the floor.

“What the hell, David?” he asks, looking between her and the dented chocolate milk cartons on the ground. 

“I can’t believe you’re the  _ second  _ person to tell me I look like Jasmine today— she and I wear  _ completely  _ different outfits, okay? Plus, this is a  _ half sari,  _ not a  _ sari,  _ idiot.” 

Ben gapes at her, eyebrows raised, and tries to think of something to say, before settling on, “um… are you alright?” 

“Why wouldn't I be alright, Ben?” she snaps, and turns her face away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Because you were kicking a locker like it owed you money,” he tells her, and sets the tray down, standing his ground. “And, y’know, you’ve seemed really… off lately.” 

“Okay, you know what, Ben?” Devi says, whirling on him, and poking a finger in his chest. Something has clearly changed, shifted, and she has redirected her anger from the locker to him, and hes a little shocked to find that he doesn’t mind it. As long as she feels better after. “I’ve had a weird fucking day— I got told off by Preethi’s sister, and some washed up white dude tried to tell me that I’m not special just because I’m smart  _ and  _ Indian.” 

He wants to interrupt, to say,  _ of course you’re special, what the fuck?  _ but he knows that it wouldn’t help. He also knows— from experience— that interrupting Devi when she is angry isn’t something that  _ anyone  _ can do safely.

“I’m either too Indian, or I’m not Indian enough, and honestly, I just want to eat a freaking donut, but I can’t, because I’m stuck  _ here,”  _ she says, and crosses her arms, “wearing a stupid outfit that makes me look crazy and just—,” 

“You don’t look crazy,” he says, and then bites his lip. It’s stupid of him, completely idiotic, and he knows that he is likely crossing some sort of line, but still, he can’t stop. “And you are special, Devi, not just because you’re smart— because you’re  _ you.” _

“What?” Devi asks, sounding halfway to breathless. 

“You… you look good,” he tells her, rubbing a hand behind his neck awkwardly. This is territory mostly unprecedented, untraversed, and stepping into it— especially when she seems close to a breakdown— but, fuck, he wants to keep exploring. “And I meant— mean— what I said.”

“Oh.” She looks shocked, for a moment, almost heavy with trepidation— there is a split second when she bites at the corner of her lip, and looks at him like she has discovered all the answers to the questions she has always wanted to ask, but never did— but then, her lip slips out from between her teeth and she smirks, and the moment is gone. The questions will remain unanswered. “I always knew you were obsessed with me, Gross.” 

He scoffs, lightheartedly. “In your dreams, David.”

_v._

The world is upside down. 

That is the only explanation for this, really. The only explanation for Devi, sitting on his couch, looking like everything he has wanted in a home. 

She is wearing her hair tied up, messy, in a knot on top of her head and a pair of glasses pushed up her nose. Pajama shorts, with the strings tied into a bow, and a hoodie—

_ His hoodie.  _

That’s why, he tries to convince himself, why he is mesmerized by her. It’s a Clippers hoodie, Patty got it for him from the game he gave her tickets to, and the thought that Devi doesn’t even  _ like  _ the Clippers flits across his mind— she is doing this on purpose, she chose to wear his hoodie because it is his, it reminds her of him, and she wanted to wear it because them, him and her, they are something different now and—

He pushes the thought away, and takes the remote she offers him. 

“Have you ever played Smash Bros, David?” he asks, and his voice comes out shaky. Thankfully, Devi doesn’t notice— or if she does, she doesn’t say anything. 

“I played it at Fab’s house a few times,” she tells him, choosing her character, and leaning back against the couch cushions. She pulls her legs up, sitting cross legged, and Ben is struck with the terrifying notion that he could brush his fingers up the length of her thigh.

She is, surprisingly and despite her lack of practice, really good at the game. She knocks him down a life fast, but he realizes quickly that she goes on the offensive, lacking in the ability to defend herself. 

So, naturally, that is how he beats her. 

He kills her character after fifteen minutes, blasting her off screen and pumping his fists in the air in victory. He turns to face her, and she’s scowling, and something in him— something protective— wants to apologize.

“You cheated,” she says, and Ben knows full well she won’t be able to prove it.

“Really,” he says, spinning around to look at her, “how?” 

“Your big, dumb head was blocking the TV!” 

“You just can't handle the fact that you lost.” 

“Whatever,” she says, tossing her remote onto the coffee table, “I know that I’m able to beat you in any kind of competition that matters, so I can lose with dignity.” 

“What?” Ben asks, utterly bewildered.

“I’m smarter than you,” she says first, and he rolls his eyes, “and I could  _ easily  _ beat you in hand to hand combat, so.” 

“You  _ really _ think that?” Ben asks, and rolls his sleeves up. 

She tosses her head back for a moment. “I know it.” 

Ben cracks his knuckles, and stands up. Devi looks at him strangely. “Get up,” he says, and gestures for her to stand. 

“What?”

“Fight me.” 

_ “Fight  _ you?” she echoes, sounding completely shocked, but tosses her phone to the side and stands up anyway. “You're giving me  _ permission _ to hit you?” 

“If you think you can actually get a swing in on me,” he says, “then, sure.” 

Devi fights, it turns out, the same way she plays Smash Bros: completely offensively. She rushes him, and he moves to the side quickly, catching his calf on the corner of the coffee table. It catches him off guard long enough for Devi to tackle him.

He falls backwards on the couch, shouting out her name and a string of curse words, Devi sprawled in his lap, when he realizes she hasn’t pinned him. 

A surge of energy hits him, and he moves forward, catching her wrists, and he spins them around, pushing Devi off of his lap and backwards into the couch cushions.

She is pinned underneath of him on his couch. 

He is pressing her wrists into the cushions, his body slotted over hers, and he can feel her breathing— heavy, labored,  _ he did that—  _ against him, her breath puffing over his face. 

“I win,” he says, and Devi says nothing. She is looking over his face, eyes wide, and he thinks she is about to admit defeat before she arches into him, and a gasp falls from her lips. 

“You’re really strong,” she whispers, almost like praise, and it sends warmth spiraling through his body. 

“Thanks,” he says, and the extra  _ you’re really beautiful  _ he wants to say, just to her, dies on his tongue when he catches her eyes.

He wants to kiss her. He wants to catch her mouth with his, make her gasp and arch into him again, wants to part the seam of her lips with his tongue and make her want him, more than anything, and— he wants her. He wants her, for real, as something permanent and beautiful and alive.

“Ben,” she whispers, eyes flickering down to his lips, and he can almost imagine her cupping his jaw and tracing the curve of his lips with her thumb. 

“Yeah, Devi?” he says, and his voice sounds raw, shaky.

“You have to get off of me,” she tells him, and squirms, her skin brushing against his. It sets off sparks in his body. 

“Right, yeah.” He lets go of her wrists and sits up, watching her pull herself into a sitting position, rolling her wrists. 

She gets up, going into the kitchen, and Ben watches her, wondering all over again what it would be like to kiss her.

_ \+ i _

“You wanna get out of here?” Ben asks, and it startles Devi, just a little bit. It always startles her, actually, when he demonstrates all over again how he is able to read her mind, know what she is thinking. 

“I probably shouldn’t leave Feb and Eleanor—” 

“Paxton carried a  _ very  _ drunk Eleanor out with Fabiola on his heels about half an hour ago,” Ben tells her, and takes a sip of his iced tea— where he had gotten ice tea at a grad night party  _ heavy  _ with alcohol, Devi isn’t really sure, but he’s her ride, so she isn’t complaining— before he nods towards the door. “Just say the word, and I’ll steal some wine and food out of the fridge, and we’re out of here.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she says, “you get the goods, I’ll get our jackets. Think your tiny brain can handle it?” 

“Does your tiny brain even remember what my jacket looks like?” 

She snorts. “Yeah, it’s like, four hundred dollars for expensive than everyone else’s.” 

“Shut the hell up, David.” 

-

She beats him to his car, leaning against the passenger side door while she waits for him to show up, scrolling through her phone. 

Ben walks up to her, holding a bottle of wine and an unopened bag of party size tortilla chips, a huge tub of Whole Foods guacamole. He falters, just a little bit, and Devi realizes that he sees her wearing his jacket. 

“You know that jacket costs more than, like, your entire life, right?” he asks her, settling the guacamole on top of his car and unlocking it. 

“It’s warmer than mine, and I was cold.” 

“Just… give it back before you go home, okay?” he tells her— asks, actually, and she knows from experience that he wouldn’t fight her if she decides to keep it. She sighs, settling into her seat and buckling the seatbelt, but relents.

“I will.” 

“Good, because I’ll call the FBI if you don’t,” he jokes. 

“That’s so white of you, Gross.” 

“I really, really hate that I can’t make a rebuttal to that,” he says, readying his forehead against the steering wheel, “like,  _ really  _ hate it.” 

She pats his head calmly, and ignores the waves of affection it sends through her body when he leans into her touch. “I know.” 

-

_ Ben's pool is warm _ is the first thing Devi thinks when she slips into the water. She’s pleasantly tipsy, just enough that she can feel it behind her eyes. She doesn’t want to be wasted— or have a wine drunk hangover— when Ben takes her back home. 

The second thing she thinks is that Ben is handsome. 

She blames it on being drunk, first, but then she runs through her mental list of drunk questions, and realizes she’s nowhere near drunk enough to go  _ there.  _ The next, most logical explanation, is that the pool has fantastic lighting. 

And it does— this blue white glow that makes her think, a little bit, of Ahtohallan from  _ Frozen II,  _ and it settles over Bens skin so perfectly, highlighting his cheekbones and the definition of his muscles, casting shadows in the dips of his body. 

She pushes it away, ignores the itch in her fingertips that she knows means she wants to touch him, and tries to focus on the water on her skin as she floats on her back, eyes closed decidedly ignoring Ben. 

She’s drifting into a daydream about Nick Jonas when she feels a hand on her arm, and nearly jumps out of her skin. 

“What the hell, Ben?” she shouts, jolting upright. He’s looking at her with an expression heavy with shock, his hair curling at the ends, where the water has touched it. 

“You were about to bump into the wall,” he explains— sputters, really— and swims away from her. 

She’s too mad at him to think it through, and before she has even fully considered it, she flattens her palms, pushing a wave of water at Ben. 

He shouts, putting up an arm to shield himself, before he splashes her back, soaking her hair. 

It escalates into the water equivalent of a wrestling match, smacking the surface of the water and pushing small chlorinated tsunamis at each other, laughing and shouting. 

It ends when Devi collides with the stairs, tripping backwards, before Ben catches her, pulling her upright. 

_ Beautiful,  _ is the first thing to cross her mind, as she looks him in the eyes— bluer than the pool water, something bright, uniquely him, impossible to replicate anywhere in nature. 

This is Ben, and he is beautiful, and she has liked him, for far longer, probably, than she is willing to admit. 

“So, I win, right?” Ben jokes, but he is breathless, looking over every inch of her face. Something in her melts, breaks, gives way to a future that she has been hurtling towards for almost fourteen years. 

“God, just be quiet,” she says, and kisses him— it’s all chlorine and wine and something salty— and he gasps against her mouth, and she takes advantage of it, slipping her tongue in between his lips.

His hands fall to her waist and he pushes her up against the stairs, and she sits on one of them, wrapping her legs around his waist and keening into his mouth. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years,” he whispers, against her lips, before trailing his mouth down her throat, scraping his teeth along her pulse point. 

“I know,” she says, but it comes out shaky when he kisses over the strap on her swimsuit. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“What?” 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was thirteen years old,” he tells her, and undoes the tie of her bikini top, letting it fall off her shoulders, “and I’ve wanted  _ you—  _ like this— since I was fifteen.” 

_ “Oh,”  _ she breathes, and pushes against him when he presses a kiss on her breast, where the swimsuit bit into her skin. “T-tell me more.” 

He pushes her up again, until she’s sitting on the ground, and it’s just her ankles in the water, and he kisses her thigh. She sighs into it, carding a hand through his hair. “I’d, really rather show you, Devi.” 

He slips his fingers into the waistband of her swimsuit and she gasps. “I would like that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, then leave a kudos and if you really enjoyed, drop a comment, i'll love you forever and most importantly my cat will respect me again. happy birthday Leila, i hope you enjoyed it <3


End file.
